If I Could Have You
by Zet Sway
Summary: Leon finally arrives home after the events of Resident Evil 4.  As his thoughts drift back to Ada, he quells his emotions in the only way he can think of.  Oneshot.  Leon/Ada


Author's Note: I've spent much time reading a lot of M rated fiction on and I have been inspired to write some of my own. I wanted to write something different, so this is what I was able to come up with. Rated M for sexual content.

Disclaimer: Leon S. Kennedy, Ada Wong, Albert Wesker, Ashley Graham, and all other characters from Resident Evil are copyright to Capcom.

It was dark when I finally arrived at my apartment in Washington. Peacefully dark, with electric lights piercing the darkness in the city. No torches, no screaming Spanish madmen, nothing. Quiet, dark, and natural. It felt like home. I took the elevator up to the fourteenth floor and fumbled with the keys in the hallway before finally opening the door. It felt like it had been ages since I had been home… in reality it was about a week. I half expected dust to rise as my feet hit the carpet in the living room. Everything was exactly the way I had left it. Good thing I had remembered to take out the trash before I left.

It felt so good to be home. Truth be told, I expected to be living in the White House by now, but with Ashley recovering in the hospital, under the care of numerous doctors, and surrounded by secret servicemen, President Graham himself had given me leave to go home and take a day off. Thankfully I had only undergone a simple health test. Doctors would be calling me in the morning with the results of my bloodwork.

No doubt after my day off I would be packing my things and moving into the basement of the White House. One day was not nearly enough to recover from a week's worth of OH SHIT, RUN at every possible second. But it was more than I had expected to get, so I was happy.

I decided to forget about all that business for now. Right then, at that very second, the only thing I wanted was a _shower._ I threw my things onto the kitchen table and walked down the hall.

I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower, setting it hot enough to where it almost burned my skin on contact. As steam began to fill the room, I took a moment to peer at my reflection in the mirror. It had been so many days since I had last seen myself… too many to count. I stripped off my shirt and took in just how banged up I really was. Bruises and minor cuts and scrapes littered my body, with dried blood in some places. My eyes were dark and sunken with exhaustion. Overall, I resembled a dead guy, and were it not for my countless hours of physical training and toning, I would have actually thought I was dying. I glanced at the shirt itself. The neoprene was more like a fishnet at this point; I don't know how I didn't notice before. Sighing as I tossed it on the sink, I stepped out of my pants and into the heat of the shower.

The water was so soothing, the therapeutic heat washing over my body, for the most part taking all the hurt away. For the most part. I grabbed a washcloth and loaded it up with soap and began to clean my wounds. I figured it would be impossible for me to wash all the ground-in dirt and grime off in just one shower, but I did my best. My wrists, neck, feet, arms, and well… basically everything was tinted a dark shade of grey. Oh, and I reeked. Good lord did I reek. I smelled like some horrid concoction of sewer water, feces, mold, and body odor. The smell was almost enough to make me retch, so bad I could taste it. After I finished scrubbing every single inch of my skin, scalp, and hair, I shut off the water and reached for my toothbrush. I counted out roughly two minutes and rubbed my tongue along my teeth. It felt so good to not feel that nasty, unbrushed shit all over them. I quickly toweled and combed my hair before wrapping the towel around my waist and shuffling over to the bedroom.

I dug around in my dresser for my favorite pair of boxers, which I had so wisely chosen not to take to Spain. Good thing, too, because if I had, I would have had to torch them along with the rest of my clothing. I threw them on along with my favorite pair of plaid pajama pants and walked over to the living room.

The couch was soft and inviting and I sat down, feeling sleep overtake me the moment my ass hit the seat. I grabbed the brown knit blanket my grandmother had given me when I moved in and stretched out across the couch, flipping on the TV as I settled down. As I nodded off to sleep, I wondered idly what it was with sleeping on the couch with the TV on that brings men so much joy.

And then, of course, I had a dream. What kind of military man goes to sleep and doesn't dream about the horrors he's seen? Of course I didn't know I was dreaming, but I rarely do.

I was back in Spain, in Salazar's castle, reliving this moment as if it was the first time it had happened.

I had to admit, the place was something akin to a fairytale. If it had been just an abandoned castle, no death priests, no dogs, no things trying to kill me, and _certainly_ no Ashley to rescue, I would have thoroughly enjoyed the tour I had of the place. I've never been a man to ogle artwork and other such things, preferring simple comforts, friends, and family to occupy my time with, but the castle was almost surreal. The rich purple velvets, the grey-white stone walls, torches, and ironwork were all things to be admired. The garden in which I found myself was no exception. A beautifully trimmed hedge maze stood before me. I looked out over the railing and I was reminded of my childhood, when my mother would take me to fall festivities that often included corn mazes. But there was no time for reminiscing now. I turned and opened the double doors behind me and stepped into a lavishly decorated bedroom, featuring a painting called "Primavera" by an artist whose name I could not recall. The room was dark, the only light being from the moon shining through the large window by the bed. I cautiously walked inside.

But not cautiously enough, it would seem. A gun was pressed into my back.

"Put your hands where I can see them," purred a familiar feminine voice. I knew she was toying with me. My hands were at my sides, in plain sight.

"Sorry, but following a lady's lead just isn't my style." What a stupid response. But I knew who this woman was.

"Put them up _now_, "came her reply, shifting her gun to situate it squarely between my shoulder blades.

In a flurry of motion, I had the upper hand. I kicked the gun out of her hand and unclipped my knife, tossing it into the air and catching it swiftly by the handle, and in a matter of seconds I had it at her throat.

Ada Wong stared me in the face. She looked barely different than she did years ago. I remembered suddenly the last time I saw her, in Raccoon City, how she let go of my hand and fell, being swallowed up by the darkness. Somehow I was not surprised to see her alive. She looked as youthful and sexy as I remembered her, but much more ladylike this time in a flowing red dress, as opposed to that goofy halter thing with the leggings she had worn in Raccoon. I instantly backed off, kicking her gun under the bed. So many questions I wanted to ask this woman, where to start? I had heard through the grapevine that she was working for Wesker, the former STARS leader, but I had yet to confirm this. I decided to start there.

"So is it true? About you, working with Wesker?" I asked. She simply smiled at me.

"What's it to you?" she purred, taking a step toward me.

"Why, Ada?" She stepped toward me once more. She took off her rose-tinted glasses and let them fall to the floor. No sooner had they hit the ground, they exploded into a blinding white light. I quickly lost my bearings and stumbled, just as she crashed into me and effectively tackled me onto the bed.

Ada's thin frame hovered over me, her creamy white thigh poking out from the slit in her dress. She had me pinned to the bed by my wrists, knowing full well I could throw her off of me whenever I so chose. Before I could move to do anything about my situation, however, she leaned down and kissed me.

This was absolutely unreal. I froze, caught between my conscience and my desires. Ada kissed me passionately, forcefully, pushing her tongue into my mouth and rubbing up against me like a cat. She was absolutely raring to go, unlike any woman I had ever been with in my entire life. Her hands were at work, too. She had already unclipped my shoulder holster and was getting to work untucking my shirt. I wanted to say something, her actions were making both of us vulnerable and prone to attack, but I quickly (too quickly) stopped caring and pushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders, pushing the top of it down to expose her strapless black bra.

And then, I threw caution to the wind and did something I know Leon Kennedy would never do. I gently pushed her off of me, stood up, and dropped my pants. She immediately knew what to do, and fished my erection out of my boxers. Gazing up into my eyes, she slowly opened her mouth and swallowed me whole. Words cannot describe how good her mouth felt. It was warm and soft and wet and all the wonderful things a man's cock should be entitled to feel whenever he damn well feels like it. I groaned and tilted my head back and let her work at her own pace, intent on enjoying this moment to its fullest, because really, this was a one in a million event. She took the whole of my manhood into her mouth and palmed my sac; and then…

And then I woke up. I woke up with a painfully hard erection, sweating, and on the floor at the foot of the couch.

God dammit.

I got up and sat back on my knees, untangling myself from the blanket in the process. The TV was still on, playing yet another boring crime show. The clock in the kitchen across the room told me that seventy minutes had passed since I had lain down.

I stood up and sat back down on the couch, turning off the TV. What a dream that was. It was so vivid. I remembered quite clearly the look in her eyes as she opened her mouth to service me, her shoulders bare and her dress bundled up around her waist. I sighed and searched my brain for the motivation to sleep, I was still dead tired.

I curled up on the couch and tried to get comfortable, tried to think of sleep and how happy I was to finally be home and on my own couch, warm and safe. But no. I was aroused and the burning desire in my loins prevented me from becoming comfortable. All I could think of was how I was happy and warm and safe and I REALLY wanted some head. My thoughts drifted back to Ada. Where was she now? She took the plaga sample and scampered off back into the arms of Wesker, for all I knew. No doubt she was intimate with him, if not REALLY leading him on. That woman sure knew how to get what she wanted, and I suppose she felt no shame in using her body to forward her goals.

She was so fucking _hot_. That tight little red dress, the really high thigh slit… I kicked myself for not at least _attempting_ to get a look up there. Then there was that little bit of black trim that so neatly framed the shape of her breasts. Oh how I wanted to get a feel of those. I imagined how she would give me that coy little smile of hers while I rolled and kneaded her breasts. How I would pull her onto my lap, how she would grind into me…

I opened my eyes and sighed aloud. My hand gravitated down toward my painfully stiff erection as I sat up on the couch and got comfortable. If I wanted to get any sleep, I had to do something about this…

Of course it's not as if I wasn't enjoying thinking of Ada in my lap and grinding on me like her life depended on it. Oh no, I certainly was.

I fished my cock out of my pants and began to stroke it slowly. I closed my eyes and tilted my head onto the back of the couch, resting it there comfortably as I went to work. I focused again on Ada, her great body, her perfect tits… Well, honestly, I could go for bigger. But this was my fantasy, and I could imagine them however I damn well pleased.

I imagined her stepping off me and slinking out of her dress and her panties and climbing back onto me, right on this very couch, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me deeply. Oh the things I wanted to do to this woman… I wanted to make her scream and cry my name, to beg me not to stop, to call me at all hours of the day to tell me how bad she needed me, needed me to touch her, to drive her crazy…

Picking up the pace on my hand, I imagined unclipping her bra and tossing it away. Her breasts were mine now, large and heavy as I worshipped them with my hands, fingers and tongue. She moaned into my mouth, pushing her chest further into my greedy hands as if she were a lowly temple servant trying to appease her god. I pinched her nipples gently, rolling them between my fingers, breaking our kiss to take one into my mouth as she tilted her head back and gasped my name, grinding into me. My own breathing quickened as I stroked myself and thought of her going down onto her knees, completely naked for me, unzipping my pants and freeing my throbbing manhood from its prison, lavishing it with her tongue and looking at me with those dark, seductive eyes…

Mmmmm…

I imagined she would be good at what she did, bringing me close… closer… almost to the edge before I stopped her, pulling her into my lap again and situating her over my cock. I penetrated her slowly as she lowered herself onto me and began to ride me at a steady pace. It was my turn to utter her name now, both in my fantasy and in reality, furiously jerking at my hardness. She steadied herself with her hands on my shoulders, fingers meeting at the back of my neck and drawing me in for another kiss as she mashed her breasts into my chest. Now that she had braced herself she began to move more quickly, her hot wetness sliding up and down my shaft so perfectly, so unlike any other woman, driving me closer to the edge by the second with each rise and fall.

"Fuck!" I hissed through clenched teeth. I pictured how she would look from all angles, perfectly toned and slim body riding mine so roughly. She was too good at this. I wasn't going to last long. I closed my eyes once more and focused on my arousal, hips bucking up into my hand of their own accord as I finally released, collapsing back onto the couch with a moan as my arousal twitched and erupted onto my hand.

My fantasy dissipated and I forced myself to come to grips with the present situation as I came down from my orgasm. I was alone, sitting on my couch, cock in hand, and needing a towel or tissue or whatever I could get my hands on. I reached over to the side table and grabbed a tissue and used it to clean myself up before tossing said tissue into the trash and collecting myself enough to stand. It took all of my remaining strength to stumble into my bedroom, my bed just as unkempt as I had left it before my emergency mission to Spain.

With an audible thud, I collapsed onto the covers, rolling over to grab one end and pull them over me. I passed out on my stomach, thinking of how great it would be, and also how impossible it would be, to one day share this bed with that woman in red.

Author's Note: This was my first time writing from the point of view of a man. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience, and will probably do it again sometime :]


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